


Low Key

by MissTantabis



Series: The Editor is my Master [2]
Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell & Related Fandoms, Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (TV), Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Alternate Universe, Kink Meme, M/M, Slice of Life, hitman childermass, master lascelles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-30
Updated: 2016-09-30
Packaged: 2018-08-18 16:29:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8168479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissTantabis/pseuds/MissTantabis
Summary: After an annoying and stressfull day Lascelles and Childermass return home. However when Childermass begins to jokingly taunt Lascelles because of his anger, Lascelles comes up with a game: If Childermass can give his feet a proper massage, he will forget the insults. If not, Childermass is gonna be in trouble.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ilthit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ilthit/gifts).



> This story takes place in the same universe as The Editor's Bloodhound. One can either see it as a sequel or prequel to the oneshot. Chronologically it does not really matter. The scene is based upon a Kink Meme in the Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell community, where a scene with Childermass massaging Lascelles' feet was requested.

The doors flapped open like angel wings. The sharp click, click of black leather shoes, that marched in a mixture of impatience and exhaustion into the room. They were followed by the lower and calmer crunch, crunch of a pair of boots. The boots stopped and a new sound could be heard. The quiet groaning of the wood of the doorway as a shoulder leaned itself against it.

Black curls slowly danced over his face and his black eyes glimmered in mild amusement as Childermass watched Henry Lascelles. His master was angrily unbuttoning his jacket, while he muttered under his breath. His red hair had hints of sweat in the tips and the dark eyes were wide and glowed in indignation.

“I cannot believe that they even suggested that I should review this story”, Lascelles hissed, “It is not even the kind of worst book I have ever read. I mean, I can read a bad book, but this… That is not even a book! That’s low key, the lamest form of entertainment I have ever seen. That is not even a form of entertainment. That is garbage, Childermass, I tell, garbage, masking itself as a book!” He slumped the manuscript he had been given on the table.

Childermass cocked his head and his gaze drifted to the manuscript. One of the pages had a dog-ear already. “I did not find it was such a bad book”, the man of business mused. Lascelles shook of his coat and stated: “That’s because you have no idea what a good novel should be like. Only the rabble would like something like this. If they could read.”

Childermass did not reply to that. He just took the green coat and carefully started to fold it. It had taken him many tries and many hits on the fingertips, until he had gotten the folding technique right. Fast, smooth, well ordered, but without damaging the material.

Childermass kept his eyes on the green jacket, seeing the light caught by the nacre buttons. He added: “Why do you even make a fuss about it? It is not like it will get you anywhere. You do not like this book, Sir. I guess, everybody gets that. You do not have to shove it into everybody’s face.” Lascelles sat down in his armchair and replied: “I am not making any fuss. What makes you think I do?”

Childermass brought the jacket away and returned with the explanation: “Apart from the fact that you have been rambling about this book for the last five minutes, Mr Lascelles? The fact that you have red patches over your face. You always have red patches over your face when you are upset about something.”

The red patches around Mr. Lascelles’ neck and cheeks intensified and he bared his teeth. “You dirty, little minx!” His leg twitched and his foot aimed for Childermass’ knee. In any other situation he would have hit, but now his hitman avoided the strike with an elegant sidestep and an amused smile on his face.

Lascelles inhaled sharply, before he let his breath go and his chest sank. He slowly laid his forehead in his palm and muttered: “I am too exhausted for your filthy jokes right now.” Opening his eyes again he ordered: “Childermass, go and fetch Linda. Tell her, I want a bottle of cherry wine and a bowl with cheese. Blue mould to be precise. Also tell her that she should come and massage my feet.”

Childermass sighed. Linda was younger then him. A slender, tough, but innocent thing, only twenty years old. The man of business asked: “Won’t there be a punishment for me, Sir? You have not yet hit me with anything.” Lascelles’ head snapped upwards and he stared at the dark Yorkshireman. “Are you trying to make fun out of me?”, he asked, “Do you think this is a game?”

As soon as he had said those words, an idea crossed the editor’s mind. It was one of those fast, brilliant ideas that could guarantee his pleasure and he actually had to congratulate himself. Lascelles started to smile and it was a smile that would have honoured a crocodile.

“You know what, Childermass?”, whispered Lascelles, “I restate my order: Tell Linda to only bring me the cheese and the wine. And then come back. I have a little service to ask off you.” Childermass bopped his head, the simplest of bows. “Aye, Sir.” He left the room.

After Linda had brought Henry Lascelles a small bowl with blue mould cheese and a wine glass plus the bottle of cherry wine, Childermass stood before his master, watching him unbolt the bottle and pour himself a glass. Lascelles took a sip. Holding the glass between his fore-, middle finger and thumb, he explained: “I decided that, since you are in such an amused mood, my dear Childermass, we are going to play a little game. A challenge, if you will. You will massage my feet now instead of Linda. If you do your job as good as her or even better, then I will forget that you have insulted me this evening. You won’t be punished. But if you do not do your job well” – Lascelles picked up a very blue piece of cheese – “you are going to end up beaten bluer then this piece of cheese.” He popped the piece in his mouth, chewed and swallowed. “You follow me?”

Childermass sighed. “Yes, Sir”, he replied. Lascelles slowly crossed his legs and his left foot wiped in the air, forming small circles. “Then get to work”, the editor stated and leaned back. Childermass slowly went down on his knees. He gave his master a brief rebellious look, before he took the foot in his hand.

Childermass slowly took a hold of the ankle and pulled off Mr. Lascelles’ shoe. Its dark leather smelled off bee wax and sweat. He slowly placed it besides him. Lascelles’ foot was covered in a long, fine woollen, white sock. The fabric felt a bit wet from sweat under his fingers. Childermass carefully and cautiously slipped his fore- and middle finger into the sock. Taking a hold with them from the inside and the thumb from the outside, the man of business slowly started to peal off the sock from Lascelles’ foot.

He revealed a slender leg, a well formed ankle and a small foot. Lascelles’ skin was pale and had a weird glow on it like polished marble. Childermass balanced the foot in his palm. The other hand slowly trailed over the muscles. They were hard and could easily be felt under the skin. Childermass began to draw circles with his finger tips in an attempt to make the muscles relax. He was not applying much pressure right now, uncertain how strong he should actually be.

Apparently he was too soft for Lascelles, because the other one quickly stamped on the floor, trapping Childermass’ palm underneath his ankle. The dark Yorkshireman yelled in pain. Fire shot through his palm, up the arm, concentrating in the shoulder and splicing his skull. Childermass’ breath quickened and he bared his teeth. His eyes had narrowed and he felt the tears glitter in them as his body coped with the pain.

“You were too soft”, explained Lascelles with a smile that showed he knew fully well what agony his movement had caused the other man, “Try again.” “Yes, Sir”, Childermass hissed through crunched teeth and his hand got released from the pain it was under.

The Yorkshireman reassumed the position he had been in. His fingers once again enclosed around the calf. Childermass repeated the movement he had done before, but now he did it with more force. His eyes darted to Lascelles’ face, while he began to figure out what pressure was the most comfortable for his master. He did not want his hand to be stamped on again.

Childermass fingers wandered from the calf to the ankle. He kept drawing circles and lines, sometimes rubbing with all his fingers and the thumb. The skin followed his movements as Childermass made it softly bend to his will. It went up and down, turning soft and warm under his pressure.

Silence drowned the room, except for the brief moments when Lascelles took a sip from his wine or ate a piece of cheese. Childermass’ eyes now fully laid on the foot. He wished he had some Aloe Vera or another salve. It would be good for the skin and made the massage easier in general. Not to mention that it gave off a nice smell. Probably lemon or mint. Definitely something that smelled expensive.

Childermass let his hands travel over the length of Lascelles’ foot, now laying his focus on the front path. The man of business wrapped his hands around Lascelles’ ball of the foot. He once again applied pressure to it by softly pressing his thumb into the sensitive flesh. His fingers slowly rubbed over the slender part where the toes met with the foot. The skin here was very thin and thus easily reacted to his movements.

Childermass curiously looked up at Lascelles. The other one had closed his eyes in relaxation and leaned his head against the chair. The wine was empty by now and he only had a few pieces of cheese remaining in the bowl. “Go on”, Lascelles mumbled and opened his eyes a slit. His toes wiggled in the cool air.

Childermass smiled and nodded. “Of course, Sir.” He too found himself relaxing in his work. His fingers slowly traced over the parts between his master’s toes. He knew he himself liked the touch there and it seemed Lascelles was no different. After Childermass had tickled the toes slightly, he carefully placed the foot down and took the left one.

He once again freed it from its prison of sock and shoe, before he began his work once again. Fingers on skin, drawing circles, softly rubbing over the muscles. Childermass’ head slowly tilted from side to side as he bid his time while doing his work. The clock ticked. Henry Lascelles was relaxing. The evening passed away and Childermass was content. He rather message this man’s feet then having to tolerate another beating.

Twenty minutes later, Childermass placed the left foot down. He slowly rose. “I am done, Mr. Lascelles”, he explained. Lascelles opened his eyes fully again. He sat up straighter. “I must admit, Childermass”, he murmured, “You did a good job. A very good job indeed. Since I sat up the rules of the game, I believe I have to say that you won.” He huffed. “You won’t be punished for what you did in the early evening.”

“Put on my shoes and socks”, Lascelles added with a tired tone, “After that you can go.” Childermass nodded. He put on Lascelles’ socks and slipped the feet into the shoes. Rising again, the man of business stated: “Good evening, Mr. Lascelles.” Childermass slowly walked towards the exit. Shortly before he had reached it, he heard Lascelles murmur: “Good evening, Childermass.” A twitch around the Yorkshireman’s lips, the hint of an amused smile. Childermass’ eyes glittered, before he stepped through the door and closed it behind him, leaving the other one alone.


End file.
